Dad (Eric) used to regularly give talks to the Probus clubs and other associations in New Zealand… this is one of his speeches, or at least the notes he made from which to address his audience:
Now, as you no doubt know, the present rules of cricket started with the MCC – Marylebone Cricket Club – in 1867. The first county game, which was in Kent was in 1868. The first Test Match in Australia at Melbourne in 1877 – as usual, England lost.
The mock obituary in The Times naming the ‘ashes’ appeared in 1882 when Australia beat England at home.
In my village of Ringmer in Sussex, the game had been played since the 1500s, in the reign of Elizabeth I. The first wickets used were sheepgates. The old English word for sheepgates was ‘cricket’, which was the origin of the name of the game.
In Sussex, wicket gates are still in use today, being a smaller gate beside a larger gate. Later, two stumps were used with one long bail – the bats were curved and remained that way until 1780, when the straight bat was introduced. All the bowling was underarm until 1900, but there have been reports that it occasionally still occurs in far off penal colonies. There have always been great personalities in Cricket. Immediately springing to mind is the one Australians call “Richard Who”.
Dr William Gilbert Grace (1848-1915)
In my young days we often spoke with awe of the great “WG”. Doctor William Gilbert Grace, 1848-1915. What a wonderful record he had. Will anybody equal his record
Scored: 54,896 runs, including 126 centuries
Took: 2,876 wickets
Scored 1000 runs in the month of May, 1895 and three times scored over 300 runs in an innings.
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That is some of its early history. But now I will turn to my experiences of village cricket and formative years.
To set the scene: at one end of the village green was the 1914-18 war memorial, and if you played a straight bat and always let the captain get the batting, one day you might get a mention on it. At the other end was the village pond where you ended up if you ran the captain out. If you played well, you would be allowed to pull the heavy roller for the next game.
The boundary on the southern side was the main road, and on the side of this was the Anchor Public House, where you might have a glass or three if the home team won. The northern side was bounded by a long line of horse chestnut trees, which shaded the long row of fixed plank seats with a small green and white pavilion and score board.
The best position in the batting order was 12th man, because once his side was in batting, he could slip away. The reason for this was that in the undergrowth behind the pavilion, the Umpire’s bountiful daughter held coaching sessions – these were not to be missed.
You can see that cricket gave us lads a fine sense of direction. The memories of those long lazy days of summer; the buzz of the bee; the thunk of ball on willow; the subdued clapping from the front of the pavilion; the noises and cries from the undergrowth at the back!!
Summer thunder muttered away beyond the South Downs over the English Channel. Unknown to us lads, in a few short years we would be there hearing the thunder of guns in the fields of Europe. More names of Sussex cricketers added to the 1914-18 war memorial: the Ames, Hammonds, Turners and Parkes. There had never been a side without one of them.
My life was changed as I had started work at the Co-op – bread delivery boy with horse and cart, still getting a lot out of life, simple pleasures, the sound of wheels and hooves on tarmac roads, the horsey smell of a 16-year-old Welsh cob, which was older than I.
It had one stop that was purely for itself, outside a certain public house. The horse informed me of this the very first day, when it halted and would not move, no matter what I said or did. After a while, the publican came out with a bucket filled to the brim with beer. After the horse had had its fill, it condescended to let me get on with the round. The mixture of oats from the nosebag and the beer had me walking the rest of the round as all afternoon, the horse suffered badly from flatulence while I just suffered. The routine never altered for the six months I did this round.
Not Eric delivering Hovis
I then rode a tradesman’s cycle. It was loaded with about 60 loaves of bread in two baskets. In those days, we supplied large, medium and small tin loaves, long tin, sandwich, long sandwich, bloomer, Vienna, Coburg, cottage, wholemeal and Hovis. The smell of fresh baked bread brings it all back to this day.
For the first year I received the princely sum of nine and eightpence per week. On the wall of the warehouse was a copy of the Shop and Factory Act, which informed us that ‘No person under the age of 18 years shall be employed for more than 84 hours per week’. They kept within the letter of the law – but only just.
One day my peaceful pursuit was shattered by a throbbing of engines. Overhead came a large silver cigar shaped object – The Hindenburg. Von Ribbontrop was on board, flying towards London.
This, of course, was to eventually change my life, but I was unaware of it at the time. I ran home to inform my parents of this wondrous sight. You must remember, at this time aeroplanes were a rare sight. It was quite slow moving – or appeared so.
Later, of course, we were to see many planes on their way to London and at night the search lights and the glow of fires as the docklands burned, nearly 50 miles away. It was a couple of years before war was declared. But … that’s another story!
I hope next time you watch cricket, when the captain tries to hit a six over the pavilion, you will realise he is trying to flush out the 12th man to make him bring out the drinks!